


Bare Cupboards

by elistaire



Category: Dead Zone, Tides of War
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank needs some help while he is grieving.  His friend, Mike, comes to him in this time of need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bare Cupboards

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover between "Tides of War" with Commander Frank Habley (played by AP) and The Dead Zone episode "Cabin Pressure" with PW playing Captain Mike Klein.
> 
> This story is for Eva, she did such wonderful manips for it, I thought they deserved a story to go along with.
> 
> Tides of War is also sometimes known as Phantom Below, although one movie has a m/m relationship and one is scoured clean of that relationship. I'm writing from the version with the m/m relationship.

The early morning sun slanted in through the windows and made the kitchen a bright and cheery place. Mike already had the coffee brewing and the earthy scent of it was wafting across the room, making him impatient for enough to drip through so he could fill a cup. He would have used the French press, but he'd wanted the coffee kept hot for whenever Frank woke up. Mike placed the base of his palms against his eyes and pressed. He had a low grade headache from working a long shift and then taking a red-eye here to visit Frank. His internal clock was always jumbled because of his job as a pilot and today he felt especially out of sorts--perhaps because of the extra flight, but mostly he expected it was because he was here with Frank.

He opened the cabinets, searching for cereal, or for anything really, and finally found some tucked away at one end. Shredded bran? His stomach rebelled and he grimaced. He'd so far escaped doctor admonishments on cholesterol, even though the years were creeping up on him. Obviously Frank was on a strict diet--which was not so strange, Frank had always been concerned with taking care of his body…or at least Mike hoped so. If Frank *preferred* the taste of bland, soggy shredded bran in the morning….

Mike sighed. Well, that would be just like Frank, he supposed. Although after not seeing each other for the past eight years and only Christmas cards and an occasional e-mail contact between them since, did he know Frank very well anymore? Or, Frank him? Hell, it'd taken Frank three months to even reveal that he'd lost his long-time partner…which was why Mike was here, three months and two days late, to give Frank support. He pulled the box of bran down and studied the contents. Bran and preservatives for freshness. Oh, delicious. Except there wasn't anything else. It was a good thing Mike preferred his coffee black because there was no milk in the fridge, no sugar bowl to be found, and nothing that even resembled a bread product anywhere. Mike tried not to think of buttered croissants. Damn, Frank, he thought, at least you could try to take care of yourself. His gaze wandered over the kitchen. It looked like it would be only coffee for breakfast. And he was damned lucky to have found the lone bag of beans wedged in by frost at the back of the freezer.

Waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, he looked out the window at the back yard and the turquoise-blue swimming pool, the bleached white-grey cement, the lush green of the hedges, the…hedges? Mike squinted suspiciously at the dense stand of bushes.

Mike exited the house to take a closer look at the greenery and grinned to himself when he saw his eyes hadn't deceived him. He popped back inside for a bowl and then eagerly started the collection, humming a nonsensical ditty. The first row of hedges had been the standard evergreen stuff, perfect for hiding pool activities, but these other plants ringed around them, wild and needing a good trimming. And bursting with late summer raspberries.

The picking was easy: a swift tug and the juicy fruit popped off the white core. The bowl was filled quickly, the lush berries filling it with a dense purple-red presence that promised a late taste of summer. Mike turned around to go inside to wash the berries and his juice stained fingertips.

Frank was standing there, leaning against a picnic table, white ceramic dinner mug in hand. His eyes were shadowed, but his expression was neutral. Mike could see curls of steam rise from the mug and his mouth watered with the sudden desire for some coffee.

"Been there long?" he asked.

"A minute or two." Frank gestured at the raspberry bushes. "Tom's idea. He loved raspberries. And the prickers kept foot traffic down."

Mike raised one wrist that had a long, thin scratch on it. "I noticed."

Frank graced him with a ghost of a smile. "I haven't had the heart to eat any since…he's been gone."

Mike nodded. He'd felt the overripe ones, soft and rotten, and had shucked them away to join the already pulpy mess on the ground, underfoot. The birds must have been having a feast all summer long.

He lifted the bowl up to bring attention to it and Frank's eyes flicked obligingly. "I'm going to rinse these. You didn't have much in your cupboards to eat."

"I've mostly been eating on the go, or on base."

"And I'd have to be a lot hungrier to eat that bran crap," Mike finished as they both walked back to the house and through to the kitchen.

"Bran crap?" Frank echoed and then he saw the cereal box sitting on the counter and began laughing.

Mike stared at him until the laughter weaned off. "So, you're not fond of it either?"

Frank shook his head. "God, no. It's three years old and probably as stale as cardboard by now. Tom bought it for the fiber and ate one bite--" he grinned "--you should have seen the look on his face."

Mike smiled back, glad to hear that Frank seemed able to easily talk about Tom and to laugh at good memories. "Must have been priceless." He snorted. "And in a kitchen with no other food, it sits there *still*."

"Dirt tastes better," Frank agreed. He took the bowl of raspberries. "I'll clean these, you get some coffee."

Gratefully, Mike finally poured himself a cup. With the first few sips, his low-grade headache began to fade. "Ah, that's better."

Frank flashed a look at him.

"Sometimes I think I only function because of coffee."

"I remember." Frank set the bowl of raspberries on the table. "You'd cram all night for an exam, fueled by caffeine alone."

"Caffeine and nicotine," Mike amended, and realized he'd left a crimson juice stain on the mug. He rinsed his hands in the sink and used a crumpled napkin he'd found lost in a drawer to wipe the smudge away. "Though I've been able to kick the one."

"Six years now?"

"Seven," Mike said, and didn't squelch the pride in his voice with false modesty. It had been a trial, and sometimes it still was. "It helped to be out of the Air Force, out of a smoking culture, and not as stressed, especially because…."

Frank smirked, but it was more an expression of frustration than humor. "Don't ask, don't tell." He picked up a berry and studied it. "I've been thinking of retirement."

"You?" Mike put his coffee down. "Bullshit. You love the Navy. Your ship. Your crew."

"I've already put my twenty in."

"Huh." Mike popped a few raspberries in his mouth and the sun-warm juice, sweet and tart, curled his tongue. He grabbed another handful. "It isn’t like it is for pilots. I still fly, even out of the military. The commercial and private sector exist. Nobody has private *nuclear submarines*."

Frank shrugged. "Priorities change as you get older."

Mike narrowed his eyes and frowned.

"I've still got most of this current tour left. I've got a while before I have to decide."

"Just don't do anything rash," Mike muttered.

"I'd forgotten how pragmatic you are."

"That's one word for it." Mike reached for another handful of berries, but they suddenly looked less appetizing and he let them drop back into the bowl. Before he could pull back Frank reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it there, above the bowl.

"You are. You wanted to fly so you went in to the Force and learned how, got out, and now you're a respected airline pilot. Determined, pragmatic. All your life."

"You're the one who wanted the fairytale. A partner, a career."

"I had it too," Frank whispered.

"I know." Mike gently pulled his hand back and Frank released him, let him go.

"What do you want now?" Mike asked softly.

"A friend." Frank's eyes had gone back to the dark well of shadow; his body stilled, waiting and expectant.

"That," Mike said as he lobbed a raspberry at Frank's head that was easily dodged, "is why I'm here." He sipped his coffee and realized his headache was now completely gone. "Come on, drink up, and we'll go shopping for groceries to fill your empty larder."

For an answer, a raspberry missile sailed his way.


End file.
